


Alive

by wildwordwomyn



Category: Person of Interest (TV)
Genre: Background Het, First Kiss, Friendship/Love, M/M, Male Slash, Series Spoilers
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-12-23
Updated: 2012-12-23
Packaged: 2017-11-22 03:36:12
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,048
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/605397
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/wildwordwomyn/pseuds/wildwordwomyn
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>John and Harold share a moment. One neither man shies away from.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Alive

**Author's Note:**

> General spoilers for everything before “Shadow Box”. Also, not real so don't sue, okay?

The library is quiet today. No numbers, no fingertips clacking away on a keyboard trying to coax information out of stubborn keys, no troubling disturbances in the air. It's nice, the silence. Comfortable. John's sitting in a large stuffed cloth-covered chair in an open area next to the main room where they work. Normally he would be cagey sitting so close to windows in broad daylight but he feels safe here. Probably because Finch's security system is top-notch. That, and the fact that Finch is across from him re-organizing some books on their shelves since there's nothing else to do. Being able to keep the man in his sights soothes John in a way he's only just begun to cherish. After Root barged her way into their lives he realized just how much the older man meant to him. Watching people pass by on the street below, he glances at his friend every now and again, content.

“Mr. Reese, are you feeling alright?” Finch asks, his voice cautious, curious.

John turns his face toward the other man. “Why wouldn't I be?” he counters, suddenly wondering if he's done something wrong.

“You were...smiling,” Finch ventures.

John blinks in surprise. “Was I?” There's an answering tic in Finch's expression, a shrug of sorts. He automatically considers lying. The recluse keeps secrets from him all the time. It would be only fair to return the gesture. And yet, “I suppose it's because I'm glad you're back,” slips out instead. So much for with-holding. “I missed you.”

John stays where he is even though he wants to stand, to move closer. He finds himself wanting to reach out and show his affection for Finch, despite Finch's wariness. He's always been a tactile person, especially with those he cares for. And he cares for Finch deeply. More than he'd like if he's to be honest with himself. But it's too late now to stop. Of course, the billionaire will assume he's only flirting, that he doesn't really mean what he's saying. That's his own fault really. He'd teased so much in the beginning of their partnership that his good moods now seem like nothing more than play.

“I'm sorry if that unnerves you,” he adds.

Finch's eyebrows furrow as if he's trying to figure out what John's game is this time. Finally, after a long moment he responds. “It that your wish? To unnerve me?”

“No, I-.”

John closes his mouth, pondering. His wish? Asking the question in such a way is a bit unsettling. He shouldn't have said that last sentence at all. Or at least not used that word. It'd been the first that came to mind though. Because he'd actually been worried that revealing some of what he felt for the other man would indeed upset him.

“You asked me a question, Finch. I answered. It's that simple.” He faces the window again, hiding his agitation behind a calm facade.

When he'd been kidnapped it took all John had not to rip the world apart with his bare hands. Not for lack of trying. If Carter hadn't been with him, if Fusco hadn't stayed behind, he might have succeeded. He certainly would've killed himself in the process if Finch had been found dead. But he's here. This is what John thinks as he looks out the window. Here with him. A few steps away. Steps he could cover in three seconds flat. Steps he can guarantee Finch would not want him to take. That doesn't stop him from wanting to.

He's mulled over the idea of crossing those boundaries, touching him. Kissing him. Finch isn't Jessica. No soft curves or easy smiles. But he is something different altogether, something exhilarating, exciting. He challenges him, pushes him beyond what he's always known about everything, including himself. He likes that. Needs it. And now that he's gotten used to it in their time together he can't live without it. Not anymore.

“Is it?” Finch inquires, more curious than ever.

John looks over at him, searching his eyes for whatever made him speak up. It hits him then that Finch really doesn't know. He decides to gift him with another truth. “Yes.” It comes out easy, unguarded. When Finch smiles softly, slowly, John feels a sharp pain in his chest. Which expands ten seconds later when he remembers to breathe again. What that smile, that beautiful upward lift at the corners of Finch's thin lips that lights up his eyes, does to him makes it clear. John gets it now. All of it. He walks over to the recluse, standing closer than he ever has before. “Yes,” he repeats.

When Finch stares up at him awkwardly, wide-eyed, John can't help it. He leans down and plants a tender kiss on him. After he pulls back he grins at Finch's owlish expression. His glasses are a little foggy and his lips are slightly parted.

“Mr. Reese, what exactly are you doing?”

John freezes, unsure. He'd assumed... “Finch, I... I'm sorry. I thought... I mean you...” He waves a hand between them. “I mean don't we.....?”

Finch does something extraordinary then. He grabs onto John's shirt and hauls him back in, kissing him this time. John melts. He'd like to say that he doesn't, that men like him wouldn't, but it's a lie. He's given too many truths to the billionaire today to lie again. Instead he cradles Finch's neck in his left hand gently, careful not to aggravate his wounds while the kiss deepens. He whimpers, caught up in how right it feels as Finch's tongue slides into his mouth. The man kisses like he does everything else, strength gathering into a ball of singular intent. It's an intoxicating feeling. Powerfully so, knocking John for a loop and causing his insides to flutter uncontrollably.

He breaks away, whispering, “Jesus, Finch,” over and over again into his ear before diving in once more. He doesn't say the 'l' word. He can't, not yet. He doesn't think Jessica will mind, however. It's obvious in his tone, in how he holds Finch protectively, possessively against himself. He wonders if she's proud of him for getting this far. He hopes she is. Because they're both broken in so many ways, and this? This is enough for now.


End file.
